Wednesday, September 20, 2006
My life is a freaking mess right now. But this is not the time to discuss the particulars.
So I have had the wonderful opportunity to be able to call Casson in the morning on my way to work (just about) daily. He is in the midst of his own paradigm shift and I feel that we are both people in the epicenter of severe upheaval on personal, emotional and life-affecting levels.
This being said, I think we both stumbled across a serious truth today.
THE CORRUPTIVE DEMMON GENE.
Not only is my last name "Demmon" which is demon with an extra "m" but the corruptive Demmon Gene dictates some seriously demonic behavior.
Apparently, the gene works like this:
You: Peter, your blog sucks, and you suck.
Me. Haha, you got me that time.
Real simple, que no? But it isn't that simple. At this point, one-quarter of my brain is dedicated to TAKING YOUR ASS DOWN, FOOL. I really think you got me good. I really think that the subject is OVER. But internally, the CORRUPTIVE GENE IS AT WORK, PLOTTING YOUR IMMINENT DESTRUCTION.
*one week later*
You: Hey Peter, remember when I said that your blog sucks and that you suck?
Me: Yeah, that stuff was silly.
You: I just want to make sure that I didn't hurt your feelings.
Me. Dude, come on, I am bigger than that!
Sounds like a regular exchange, right? WRONG. One quarter of my brain is SCRUTINIZING EVERY LAST WORD YOU SAID. I said to you that I am bigger than it all. I am bigger than it all. I am so big that I will BRING YOUR ASS DOWN, PUNK. I HOPE I DON'T HURT YOUR FEELINGS WHEN I PLUCK YOUR EYEBALLS OUT THEM AND POP THEM OPEN WITH MY MOLARS!!!!
Then I straighten up. I think to myself, "You isn't such a bad person. You is actually alright. Hey, they can hate my blog...there is a lot of good about You." I assuage and pour oil on the wounds and assuage some more.
TO NO AVAIL.
ONE QUARTER OF MY BRAIN IS SCREAMING THAT I DRAG RAZORS ACROSS YOUR PRIVATES AND DOUSE THE WOUNDS WITH RUBBING ALCOHOL.
What the hell is wrong with me? How can I defrag this horrible gene within me? I was breaking it down to Casson pretty much as I just broke it down to you. He was all "Heh heh, yeah, I know what you are talking about." While a solid third of his brain was working to clip me at the knees for figuring out how he operates.
This bad gene has run itself through my mental processes for my entire life. I try to stop it. I try to deny it, and then it focuses on me with SELF-LOATHING and a brutal demand for SELF-FLAGELLATION. Imagine if you will: one quarter of your brain telling you that you should jump in front of traffic. Not to get yourself killed, but to jump back in time to just have your leg or arm shattered beyond repair. THAT IS THE DEMMON GENE, FOLKS.
I want to do better, but I have been pre-programmed by the powers that be to TAKE OUT EVERY LAST BASTARD THAT HAS STEPPED TO ME.
I want to look at this as some sort of surmountable situation, but it is not. Ask a Demmon. Ask any f*cking Demmon and they will smile in your face and plot your absolute, pain addled destruction.
So...Casson and I unearthed this deadly family secret this morning, and now I don't know what to do with this piece of truth. I really shouldn't talk about it. I really shouldn't address it. I should just keep the stuff internal and hope to God above that at some point in my life, this gene will be countered.
You: This is the weirdest blog you have ever written.
Me. Hahaha. You sure do make me laugh.